


Wolf Like Me

by gallovihc



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Drinking, Drug Use, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Violence, bc do u know who i am, but like good dark, i hope you all enjoy, suspenseful page turner dark, this will probably be dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 21:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4538025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallovihc/pseuds/gallovihc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>luke's never really been in love with anything other than ballet and calum's forgotten how to feel when he isn't beating the shit out of someone. under odd sort of circumstances they meet. this changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolf Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> wow can you believe it?? i am actually starting a new fic. this is incredible, i never thought i'd live to see the day. first of all i would like to thank ao3 user nnessiee for suggesting this prompt. i'm really, really excited for how it's going to turn out. i don't own luke hemmings or calum hood, or any member of 5 seconds of summer. this is a fictional piece of work and no disrespect is intended towards anyone. as always, please don't send this to any of the boys, this is for the enjoyment of fans & shippers. constructive criticism, comments, or compliments are always appreciated. i really hope you guys enjoy this and that it lives up to everyone's expectations from the last fic. xoxo

_Point. Bring the toe out. Circle to the side, take it around. Graze the heels and point again. One._

“Straighten your back, Hemmings.”

“Yes, Sir.”

_Point. Bring the toe out. Circle to the side, take it around. Graze the heels and point again. Two._

“I said straighten your goddamn back, do I need to glue your fucking shoulders to a board?”

“No, Sir. Sorry, Sir.”

_Point. Bring the toe out. Circle to the side, take it around. Graze the heels and point again. Three._

“When you finish your Rond de Jambe’s, everybody take ten! Hemmings, you stay behind.”

_Point. Bring the toe out. Circle to the side, take it around. Graze the heels and point again. Four._

“Yes, Sir.”

Luke pushes his shoulders back further, keeping his eyes trained on the small clock across the room. It’s Wednesday, which means a two-hour technique class, and the clock tells him he’s got an hour left. His hand is slippery with sweat against the wooden bar, despite the cool air drafting into the room, and he tries to ignore the small pounding in his left temple. He peeks at himself in the mirror, double checking his corrected posture.

_Point. Bring the toe out. Circle to the side, take it around. Graze the heels and point again. Seven._

Andrew makes his rounds again, this time remaining quiet as he passes Luke. Luke takes a deep breath and continues the drill. As the class reaches the twenty fifth Rond de Jambe, the music stops and Luke feels the people around him relaxing.

Slowly, everyone exits the room, conversing softly to one another on the way out. Luke stays where he is, not allowing himself to relax just yet. He takes his hand off the bar and wipes it on the front of his leggings, then looks over at Andrew.

Andrew ignores him at first, but to Luke this is nothing new. He waits quietly for the older man to speak. This has always been the nature of their relationship. They’d met three years prior when Luke was sixteen. He’d moved to New York in order to join Juilliard’s Pre-College Division program for dance, a program that trained its students for the New York City Ballet Company. Luke remembers how naive he’d been- he’d thought back then that once he and Andrew were together, Andrew might be gentler, less harsh with him. Luke quickly realized that this thought had no basis in reality.

Andrew is older than him and is the assistant director of Juilliard’s dance company. Luke quietly studies his features as the man continues to pay no heed to Luke. Luke has memorized these features- his sharp jawline, thin lips, high cheekbones, dark eyes and hair. His face is clean shaven as per usual, much like the rest of his life. He keeps things organized, tidy, everything cleaned and finished to perfection.

Luke is no exception. In the studio, Andrew pushes him just as he pushes everybody else. And, though Luke would never say so, sometimes even harder.

“Is something wrong?” Luke jumps as Andrew’s voice cuts through the air. He looks across the room at the man he calls his lover. Andrew is finally looking at him, but it’s with such strong distaste that Luke thinks hardly anyone would be able to guess the relationship between the two.

“N-no,” Luke clears his throat, forcing a certain steadiness into his voice, “Sir.”

“Then what’s your excuse?” Andrew demands, raising his eyebrows challengingly at the younger boy.

“I’ve had a headache all afternoon,” Luke supplies quickly, “It’s been distracting me. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“If it does, I may have to consider taking you out of the show,” Andrew warns.

Luke feels his heart pick up, startled at the threat. His brain is screaming to object, but he knows an outburst would only make the situation worse. “New York’s company director is going to be there,” Luke forces himself to stay calm,  “I need to be in the show-”

“If it happens again,” Andrew interrupts, sending Luke back into silence, “I may have to consider it.”

“It won’t happen again, Sir.”

“Good,” Andrew nods, heading over to the studio doorway and opening it. The rest of the class files in.

Most of his classmates ignore him as they return to their assigned spots. One girl, Lauren, a petite blonde the same age as Luke, shoots him a questioning glance and heads over to where he’s standing.

“Everything okay?” She asks, giving him a bracing smile.

“Yeah, fine. Thanks,” Luke assures her poorly. He shakes his head slightly to himself and takes a deep breath, feeling a little shaken as he moves slowly back to his spot on the bar. The music starts up again and Andrew’s voice fills the room, loudly instructing a round of Fondu’s. Luke grips the bar tightly and tries to push away his growing feeling of fatigue. His head still hurts and he’s thirsty, but Andrew didn’t seem to think he deserved a break, and Luke knows that Andrew is usually right.

He glances at himself in the mirror, makes sure his posture is perfect. When Andrew walks by this time, he stops and gives Luke a once over, then continues his pacing. Luke takes a deep breath. He’s safe for now, at least.

He bends his knee and tries harder to be perfect.

+

After class, Luke files into the hallway with the rest of the group. He heads over to the cabinet with his belongings, not speaking to anyone.

The rest of his class chatters as they gather their things, but Luke has made a habit of keeping to himself. The habit started just a few months into the division program at Juilliard, right around the time that Andrew had taken notice of Luke. His presence seemed to alienate Luke from the rest of his peers, and the lack of relationships had carried over to his spot in the Juilliard company.

It’s never bothered Luke very much, as he figured out early on Andrew’s dislike of anyone Luke became too close to. The older man still reminds Luke how too much socializing interferes with his training, and Luke supposes Andrew is right about this as well. He wouldn’t be an assistant director otherwise.

Luke finds that when he listens to Andrew, he’s usually rewarded. It had been made very clear to him from the start that if he followed Andrew’s lead, he’d land a spot right in the New York City Ballet Company. And that’s all he’s really ever wanted, anyway.

It’s late October, and a fine layer of snow is already caressing the ground as Luke steps outside. He’s glad he’s bundled himself up in his coat, scarf, and hat as he starts walking towards the subway. It’s windy outside, and he can already feel his nose and cheeks turning red from the cold air.

“Hey, Luke! Wait up!”

Luke stops and turns around, his eyes falling on Lauren. She’s wearing a bright red pea coat and big winter boots and she’s hurrying to catch up with Luke, but her boots slow her down and Luke briefly wonders how she transforms her every day clumsiness into remarkably graceful dancing so well.

He likes Lauren, as much as he’s ever really allowed himself to like anybody nowadays; she’s one of the fairly nonexistent number of people that’s never seemed fazed by his relationship with Andrew. At first it put Luke off, but he’s learned to accept her bubbly personality and he usually doesn’t mind her company.

Today, however, he’d been hoping to avoid conversation. His entire body has started to ache and he’s embarrassed for the mistakes he made in class. Lauren hardly seems to notice this as she catches up to him and slings her arm through his.

“Hey,” Luke mumbles, giving her the biggest smile he can manage. It turns out a bit pathetic, really.

“Long day, huh?” Lauren makes a sympathetic noise as they fall into step again. Luke shrugs in response, “In my opinion, your back was straighter than anybody else’s, if that makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t, really,” Luke grimaces. Maybe he should be a bit kinder, seeing as she’s one of the few people who actually seems to like him.

“I don’t get why he’s so hard on you,” Lauren continues thoughtfully, painfully ignorant of the fact that this is hardly something Luke wants to talk about, “I mean, you’d think seeing as you’re sleeping with the guy, he’d at least show a little favoritism.”

“I’m not just sleeping with him,” Luke corrects her, “He’s my boyfriend.”

“Right, right,” Lauren murmurs, not sounding incredibly convinced, “How long has that been now?”

“A little over a year,” Luke tells her. He’s told her this before, but Lauren has always been more of a talker than a listener.

“Oh, it must be longer than that,” she insists.

Luke swallows, pushing away the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach, “Nope. We got together last year on my birthday, in July.”

“Yeah but you’ve, you know, _been together_ since you got here really,” Lauren looks up at him, “Haven’t you?”

Luke keeps his eyes on the sidewalk ahead of them. Lauren’s right for the most part. Andrew had laid his claim on Luke almost immediately after the program at Juilliard had started. It was just that they hadn’t made it official until Luke had turned eighteen. Legal issues, Andrew always said. He had been twenty four at the time they’d met. It made sense to Luke and besides, everyone had pretty much known before then anyway, so he never saw the point in announcing it.

“Suppose so,” Luke shrugs.

“D’you want to come over tomorrow for tea before rehearsal?” Lauren asks cheerfully, moving on from the discussion of Luke’s love life.

“I suppose so, thanks,” Luke agrees politely, “I’ll just have to make sure Andrew doesn’t mind.”

“My brother’s going to be over,” Lauren continues, “He just got back from a really long business trip. I think you’ll like him. It’s always good to make some new friends.”

Luke knows Lauren is just trying to help him out. She thinks he’s lonely, and maybe she’s right, but he wishes she would stay out of things. Everything would be much less complicated that way.

“Alright then, I’ll do my best to make it,” Luke promises.

It’s getting to the point where he’d really quite like to be alone again, and he spots a bookstore across the street that looks like the perfect escape. He points it out to her, “I’ve actually wanted to pop in there for a while now, if you don’t mind parting ways. I’m sure you’d like to get home.”

“Sure,” Lauren smiles, “You remember where I live? For tomorrow?”

“I think so,” Luke says, even though he doesn’t, “Text me the address just in case, yeah?”

“Have a good night Luke!” Lauren says, like she means it.

“You too,” Luke gives her a small squeeze, then heads across the street.

The bookstore is nice and warm and a little bell rings when he enters. It has a nice ambiance, and he thinks he might stay awhile. He figures as long as he’s home in time for dinner Andrew won’t mind, and maybe he’ll bring back a small present, just to make up for disappointing him during class. Luke feels a bit better now, having this idea, and he starts searching the aisles for something Andrew will like.

+

It’s dark by the time Luke gets home. He wipes his feet on the mat outside their apartment door before heading inside. It’s a nice place; Andrew’s had it since before Luke knew him. Luke had moved in shortly after his eighteenth birthday, on Andrew’s invitation. Andrew had assured Luke that the close proximity would make it easier for Andrew to help Luke with his training. And, as an after thought, it was time to take the next step in their relationship.

Andrew doesn’t acknowledge Luke’s presence as Luke unties his boots and hangs his coat on the coatrack. He’s in the kitchen, stirring something at the stove, and Luke goes over to him and presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

“You’re home late,” Andrew observes.

“I got caught up talking to Lauren after class,” Luke explains, “And then I stopped at that bookstore down the block. I picked up Beauchene’s new book for you, thought you might enjoy it.”

Andrew gives him a small smile as Luke place the bag down on the kitchen table, “Thanks, L. Take the bag off the table, though?” He phrases it as a question, but Luke knows it’s more a command.

“Right, yeah, sorry,” Luke mumbles, taking the book out of the bag. He goes into the living room, which is connected to the kitchen, and places the book on the coffee table. Then he crumbles up the bag and shoves it in the trash, “What’s for dinner?”

“I’m roasting some vegetables to go over a salad. There’s salmon in the oven, should be ready soon,” Andrew tells him, “You can set the table if you want to help.”

“Sounds delicious, I’m starving,” Luke compliments.

Andrew looks at him sharply, “Did you not have lunch?”

“No, I did it was just-”

“I thought we went over this,” Andrew cuts him off, “Keeping a balanced diet is part of being the best dancer. That’s probably why you had a headache today, you’re not eating correctly.”

“I’m sorry,” Luke says sincerely, “The T had some maintenance problems, I barely had time to grab some food before rehearsals.”

Andrew sighs, annoyed, “I can start making you lunch if getting it is such a problem.”

Luke shakes his head, “It was a one time thing.”

“I’m worried that if you’re not eating the right way it’s going to compromise your ability to be in the show,” Andrew says authoritatively.

Luke’s stomach drops, and the anxiety from class returns, “I’m going to do fine in the show.”

“You shouldn’t be striving just for fine,” Andrew scolds him, “You should be striving to be the best.”

“I’m going to go ice my ankles,” Luke’s had enough chastising for today. Andrew may know what’s best, but that doesn’t mean Luke wants to hear it all the time. “Let me know when dinner’s ready.”

Andrew looks him over, likely trying to decide whether or not he should let Luke off the hook. He sighs again, turning back to the stove, “Set the table before you do.”

Luke says nothing as he gathers two napkins, forks, and knives. He lays them out on the small round table in the kitchen, then goes to the refrigerator and grabs two ice packs from the freezer.

In their bedroom, he situates himself on the armchair in the corner of the room and props his feet up on the foot stool. Once he’s set up his feet with the ice packs, he pulls out his phone. He has one message from Lauren, stating her address and a smiley face. He texts her back a quick ‘thank you’, and his phone buzzes less than a minute later.

Lauren Irwin 8:14 _can’t wait to c u tomorrow! ur gonna luv my bro_

He leans his head back, feeling the ache return, and tries to relax. He’s upset with Andrew for threatening to take him out of the show, just for one slip up, but he can already hear Andrew’s voice in his head. _You can’t make a habit of excusing a mistake and saying you’ll do better next time. You have to do the best every time, or else just one slip up will turn into a number of them, and you won’t get accepted into the company that way, will you?_

Andrew knocks on the bedroom door some ten or fifteen minutes later, then opens it without waiting for a response. He looks at Luke pointedly, “I know you’re stressed about the show, L, but I promise, I’m only pushing you because I know you can do better.”

“I know,” Luke doesn’t look at him, but nods slowly.

“Come have dinner now, L,” Andrew directs, “Its going to get cold.”

Luke nods again and gets up. On their way to the kitchen, Andrew places his hand on Luke’s lower back, in what’s probably meant to be a comforting touch. It doesn’t make Luke feel any better.

+

Calum isn’t drunk. Then again, he’s not entirely sober either. And he’s not particularly enjoying the feeling. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be drunk, it’s just that he’d calculated exactly how much the drinks at this bar cost, and he’d only brought enough cash for two. The exact change is counted out in his pocket, and he tries not to think about the fact that these are the last drinks he’s going to have until his next paycheck comes in. Alcoholism isn’t a very easy thing to pursue when working a minimum wage job.

The problem is he hasn’t really had enough to drink to actually feel good, and now he’s beginning to feel like shit. He’s in the stage between tipsy and drunk, where one starts to reflect on everything that’s ever gone wrong in their life, and right now Calum’s looking at a very long list.

He wants to sleep, and he finds himself wishing he had a nice penthouse suite to go home to. One with a big bed and a fluffy duvet and the comfy pillows that are just the right amount of plush. What he actually has to go home to is his shitty flat with the shitty mattress on the floor and his shitty thin pillow that always leaves him with a weird crook in his neck the next morning.

He’s feeling quite down on his luck at the moment.

With a sigh, Calum signals to the bartender for his bill. The man is quite the character; he’s got his neck all tattooed up and his head shaved and Calum supposes he’s working at this bar because he really isn’t sporting the right look for any other type of job.

The man hands Calum his bill. Thirty two dollars and sixty eight cents.

Calum frowns, “Excuse me, there seems to be a problem.”

The man looks at him, raising one eyebrow.

“You’ve charged me the wrong amount,” Calum continues, glad that he is at least not at the point of slurring, “It should be twenty four thirty two.”

“Each drink was sixteen thirty four,” the man says dully.

“No,” Calum corrects him, “Each drink was twelve sixteen. It says right here on the menu.” Calum pulls out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. It’s one of those to-go menu’s you can take home with you, and he’s had it for quite some time now. He shows it to the bartender.

“We updated the menu,” the man says shortly, pulling out a different, nicer looking menu from behind the bar and shoving it in front of Calum, “Raised all our prices.”

“Look, mate, I really thought my total would be twenty four thirty two,” Calum says, only half apologetic because really, how the fuck should he have known this?

“Sucks for you, fess up the cash,” the man says.

“I don’t have the cash,” Calum pulls out his evenly counted out money, “S’all I got, mate.”

“Stop calling me mate,” the man glares at him, “And give me the damn money.”

Calum realizes he’s starting to attract a bit of attention. The man on the barstool next to him turns to face him.

“Give him the fuckin’ money, man,” the guy says. Calum notices he’s missing a front tooth, and his blonde hair looks bleached with the roots growing out.

“I don’t have the fuckin’ money, man,” Calum snaps, imitating Blondie’s voice.

“Ya fuckin’ lousy bum,” Blondie sneers, “Think you can just stride in here, get drunk, and leave without payin’?”

“Not really, mate, but seeing as I was lied to about the price of the drinks I was buying-”

“You calling me a liar?” the bartender interrupts, his face turning red.

“Jesus, mate, I’ve given you what I’ve got,” Calum says, quite annoyed at this point, “What the hell do you want me to do?”

It’s at this point that Blondie sticks his hand out and smacks Calum’s arm. Calum isn’t sure if he was going for a hit or a shove, but it’s enough to really piss him off.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Calum says lowly.

“Oh, yeah?” Blondie grabs the front of Calum’s shirt, gripping the material and yanking Calum towards himself, “Or what?”

“You really don’t wanna do this, mate,” Calum warns.

Blondie spits, and it lands right on Calum’s cheek. Calum can feel the saliva dripping down his face and he reaches up and wipes it away. “Or what?”

Without thinking, Calum jerks backwards, freeing himself from Blondie’s grip before he his swings his right arm up and forward. His fist collides with Blondie’s chin, knocking the man’s head back. Before he has a chance to react, Calum lands another hit on the man’s cheekbone. Blondie lets out a sort of grunt, then jumps forward, tackling Calum off the barstool.

Calum’s back collides against the floor and his head bashes loudly against the wood as Blondie smashes his fist against Calum’s eye. Sharp pain flashes through Calum’s head but he quickly recollects himself and throws Blondie off him. He wraps his arm around the guy’s neck and, with his free hand, knocks him three times, quickly, the way he’d learned. He lets the guy go and watches him stagger backwards, before moving towards him and landing a heavy blow in the guy’s gut. Blondie falls down, and Calum feels a familiar jolt of satisfaction, as this is the reaction he’d intended. He feels like he’s eighteen again, in the boxing ring, having just taken out one of his opponents. With his current opponent on the ground, Calum sends a kick to the guy’s ribs. Less than professional, but Calum feels the man deserves it. He realizes his mistake as the man jerks Calum’s ankle out from underneath him and he falls to the ground. The man attempts to climb on top of him and sock his face again, but Calum grabs his wrist and quickly turns the tables. Once he’s on top, he uses his advantage to land punch after punch.

In boxing, this is the part where Calum is supposed to stop. He’s won the fight already. But he’s always had a bit a problem with anger. That’s how he’d become involved in the sport in the first place. His father had signed him up for boxing lessons initially after Calum had gotten into a series of fights at school. It was supposed to act as an outlet for Calum’s violent tendencies. But Calum had faced the same issues even when professionally fighting. He got carried away, he couldn’t help it. It gave him such satisfaction to feel his fists colliding with flesh; he loved the power he had over whoever was opposite him, or underneath him, loved the fact that they were at his mercy.

His next punch is stopped mid air as he feels two strong arms grab him from behind and pull him off Blondie.

“Easy there, bud,” A gruff voice says into his ear, “You might wanna stop before you kill the guy.”

Calum looks around the room, almost in a daze. It takes everyone several seconds to realize the fight has been stopped, and he feels himself being roughly dragged out of the bar before anyone can do anything else. There’s shouting behind him, but he feels detached from the situation as he’s pulled down the sidewalk.

He stumbles to stay on his feet; there’s still a tight hold on his arm and the person is walking much faster than Calum approves of. A short distance from the bar, Calum is yanked into an alleyway and let go, not nearly as gently as he'd please. He catches himself against the brick wall and turns to look at his captor. The man is young, his hair white with a black streak at the top. In the dim streetlight Calum can make out dark eyeliner around the man’s eyes.

“You cooled off?” the man asks curtly.

Calum takes a deep breath, “Yeah, yeah, thanks.”

“I’m Michael,” the man- Michael says as he sticks a hand forward.

Calum gives him a confused look, and he realizes he’s still panting heavily. He takes Michael’s hand nonetheless, “Calum.”

“Where the bloody hell did you learn to fight like that?” Michael asks, a note of admiration in his voice.

“Been boxing since I was a kid,” Calum shrugs, “Was in a league, but I got kicked out for, uh, violating some rules.”

Michael raises his eyebrows, “What kind of rules?”

“Fucked a couple guys up real bad,” Calum admits, feeling a swell of pride. He suddenly finds himself grinning, “I’ve got a bit of a problem with control. Sometimes don’t stop when I’m supposed to.”

“I got the feeling,” Michael quips, “You’re mouth is bleeding, by the way.”

Calum shrugs again, “I’ll deal with it when I get home.”

“You should head somewhere else soon,” Michael suggests, “They’re bound to have called the cops by now. Men like that are fucking wimps, can’t handle jack shit on their own.”

“Right,” Calum says, suddenly feeling awkward and unsure of what to do with his hands, “Well, uh, thanks, mate.”

Michael remains quiet, looking Calum over slowly. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it up, taking a deep drag before he says, “I get the feeling you miss fighting.”

Calum narrows his eyes, unsure of where Michael is going with this, “Yeah. I guess, yeah.”

“You ever been underground?” Michael questions.

Calum frowns, confused, “Sorry?”

“You know,” Michael takes another drag, “Like a fight club.”

Realization floods through Calum, and an odd sort of feeling begins to grow in the pit of his stomach. Something that feels a lot like excitement.

“Uh, no,” he says slowly.

Michael gives him a knowing look, “You ever want to?”

Calum nods, “Yeah.”

Michael grins, “Follow me.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> there will not be a new chapter this sunday because i'm in tahiti!!!! chapter two will be posted the following sunday. xo


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